A Monstrous Thing
by Saucery
Summary: Derek is a high school teacher out to make a difference. Stiles is... just different.


**A MONSTROUS THING**

**- Part I -**

* * *

When Derek resolved to be a teacher, he did it because he wanted to help kids - kids like the ones he grew up with, like the one he _was_. (Used to be.) An animal of a boy, torn jeans and cigarette burns on his arms, fucked up in more ways than any shrink could count.

He wasn't that boy, anymore. He'd gotten himself on the straight and narrow. He had a _dream_, now. A reality.

So he got his degree, passed the exam, and started teaching. It was great. It was _difficult_, sure, but it was _great_, and every student he got through to, every disenfranchised kid he pulled off the street or out of a gang, made the terrible hours and the even more terrible pay _worth_ it. Always, always worth it.

The years passed. He thought he'd seen everything; he'd been in state schools for nearly half a decade, and he'd seen some crazy things, some _cruel_ things, but he'd never seen _this_.

"Hey, teach," said the boy - Stiles Stilinski - wiping his mouth. His bruised, swollen mouth, that looked like someone had just _hit_it, but Derek could see, clearly, that fighting was not what was going on, here.

The other two students - Romanov and Chandler - did up their trousers and fled, cursing, red in the face.

_Stilinski_ didn't look embarrassed, at all. Or in a hurry to go anywhere.

As Derek stared, he got up from the floor, massaged his knees, and stretched. _Grinned._

Didn't even _leer_, just - _grinned_, like -

"You want some, too, teach? Or are you just gonna stand there?"

"They - were they - "

"No, they weren't forcing me," said Stiles, ticking the points off on his fingers. "And they weren't bullying me. And they weren't_paying_ me, so you can't call this prostitution, which means it isn't illegal, and I'm over sixteen, and so are they, so nothing that happened here is punishable by the law. Did I get everything?"

There certainly didn't _seem_ to be force involved, but… "You can't just - "

"I _can't_?" Stiles stepped close to him, and Derek could _smell_ it, the smell of semen and spit, and, hell, Stiles's mouth was still _wet_. "Come on, teach. You know better than that."

"_You_ know better than - "

"What? Enjoying myself? During recess? I'm not even skipping class, man."

"It's Derek Hale. Mr. Hale, to you. Not 'man', not 'teach', not - "

"Sir? Master? _Daddy?_"

"You can't do this sort of thing at school."

"Why not? Not like plenty of people don't neck in corridors. Or is it the gay thing? Is that what bothers you? 'Cause I've gotta say, ever since Danny and his boyfriend became Prom Kings last year, that homophobia crap is going outta _style_."

Derek ground his _teeth_. "That is _not_ what I meant, and you know it. 'Necking' is completely different from - from - "

"Sexually servicing your classmates in changing rooms?" Stiles fluttered his _eyelashes_. "Gotcha. So I can sexually service them somewhere _else_?"

"Preferably not anywhere, but _definitely_ not at school."

"Not at school," Stiles nodded, sagely. "Good to know." His eyes _gleamed_. "By the way, did anyone tell you, _Mr. Hale_, that you're really hot? You look like something off the cover of a dime store novel."

"Don't even try."

"Try _what_?"

"Hitting on me. You've got potential, kid. I've seen your grades. Why're you even doing this?"

"Why _shouldn't_ I be? It doesn't affect my grades, like you just _said_." Stiles snorted. "If you weren't so hot, I wouldn't even bother talking to you, seriously. Why don't you just ignore me, like everyone else?"

"Everyone." Derek _froze_. "Else."

"Yeah. Like, the entire _staff_? The janitor even cleans up after me, real sweet of him. The other teachers don't bother. Some've even had a bite of this pie." Stiles patted his ass. "It's a _very_ nice pie."

Derek - Derek _didn't_ step back. Didn't _swing_ at anything. Didn't accuse the kid of lying, because he knew, he _knew_, that often, it was the most flippant kids that never lied, at _all_. And this was Derek's first week at this school, so he couldn't assume anything, couldn't assume that the other teachers here were all, uniformly, decent human beings. "Who."

"What?"

"Who was it. Among the staff. That touched you."

Stiles _blinked_. "Dude, you look… kind of like a psycho, actually - "

"_Who_."

"Um. Are you one of those righteous types? A knight in shining armor? What? 'Cause I don't need rescuing, is what I'm saying."

"Stiles," Derek growled. "_Who._"

Stiles _gaped_. "That could - that line of enquiry could get you _fired_, man. Don't you have _any_ sense of self-preservation, at _all_? This is how things are _done_, around here - "

"I don't care how 'things' are done," grits Derek. "You. Are not. A _thing_."

"I'm - "

"_Who was it._"

Stiles - Stiles was looking up at him. Looking up at him from against a _wall_, and - shit, _damn_, he had a hand wrapped around the boy's _wrist_ -

"Mmm, _Daddy_. I _do_ like the forceful ones."

Derek _flinched_. And let go.

The boy was studying him. Studying him from under heavy-lidded eyes, bright with lust and _calculation_ -

"Don't."

"Don't. Can't. _Shouldn't_. There're way too many apostrophes in your language, man. Didn't anybody ever teach you that diacriticism is _still_ criticism? And not the constructive kind?"

"Dia - " Derek closed his eyes. Sighed. "If you're trying to impress me with your cleverness - "

"I'd impress you with anything and _everything_ if it could get me in your _pants_. Or you in my pants. Actually, I'd like that better."

"_Stiles - _"

"You have anger management issues," said the kid, out of nowhere. "Do you always grab people and shove them against things when they don't give you answers? Which, uh, if you _do_, teaching doesn't seem like the best career choice. Just saying."

"I - I didn't mean to do that." _I'm sorry_, Derek didn't add. He had to, though. _Had_ to -

"You _didn't_? Bummer. I thought you _wanted_ to get your hot bod all up in my face. I enjoyed the experience, honestly. _Relax._"

Relax. The boy wanted him to _relax_. Derek was on the brink of an _aneurysm_, and he - "You'll keep doing this, won't you?"

"Flirting with you? Hell, yeah. You're the new Math teacher, right? Now that old Ms. Dowling's retired. I'd heard you were something else, but, _Jesus_. You make me _religious_. Because, if cheekbones like _yours_ exist? Then there _is_ a god. Possibly a god that doubles as a _GQ_ editor, but - "

"Stiles." Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. "I meant… what you were doing. When I found you."

"Sucking off two standard-issue teenage dicks? That wouldn't hold a candle to _your_ glorious package?"

Derek… wasn't going to be appalled. He wasn't even going to let his eyes _widen_. That was the effect kids like Stiles went for - the shock factor, or glamorizing themselves by making other people look dull. _Staid_. "Yes. That."

"Hm. Anger management issues. Doesn't shock easily, but has an overdeveloped conscience. Looks like a devastatingly attractive Attila the Hun, but isn't nearly as rapacious. Or at _all_ rapacious… unfortunately for me. Has fists the size of _boulders_, and probably knows how to use them, too - but in a Shaolin monk, defend-the-peace kind of way. You're a mystery, Mr. Hale. Derek?"

"Mr. Hale. Will you keep doing - what you were doing?"

"Say it."

Derek _looked_ at him.

"Say it, and maybe I'll stop. _Describe_ it."

"I don't dirty-talk on command."

"Well, _I_ do _plenty_ on command."

"Stiles."

"Yes, teach." The kid was _beaming_. Like he was enjoying this. Like he was enjoying this at least as much as - if not _more_ than - what he and his playmates were up to, before.

"You'll stop doing it."

"Oh, I _will_." Stiles tilted his head, and now, he _was_ leering. "If I can have _you_, instead."

"I don't negotiate with terrorists."

"Terr - _terrorists_? Holy shit, so does that make me, like, a _sex terrorist_? That's _cool_. And scary. But mostly cool."

"Kid."

"Daddy."

"Detention. After class."

"With _you_? Awesome!"

Derek… didn't punch anything. Including himself. In the _teeth_, like he wanted to. Instead, he backpedaled, escaped to the teacher's lounge, and got himself a coffee.

Several coffees.

What he needed was _alcohol_.

Several alcohols.

Alcohol-type things. God, sometimes he wished he hadn't given up drinking. But, well, needs must.

"You all right, newbie?" Chris Argent, the school's prize coach and once-champion of Olympic archery, took a seat across from him.

"Nothing. Just - "

"Let me guess. You met the Stilinski boy."

Derek's head jerked up.

"Yeah, I thought that look on your face was familiar. Same look I had when I met him for the first time, really."

"Has no one - has no one been able to help him?"

"_Help_ him? You mean, _stop_ him. Kid's a force of nature. Product of the foster-care system." Chris huffed. "Forget about it."

Forget - _forget_ about it. Was that what everyone did? _Forget_ about Stiles? Was that why he was doing this?

Who _were_ the teachers that had broken his trust? Abused him?

Had there been other adults, too?

"Listen, Derek. You seem like the sincere type. Which is nice, I'm not _discouraging_ you, but - "

"That's exactly what you're doing. You're telling me to ignore a student in need - "

"What that boy _needs_ is a bad experience. To teach him a lesson."

A… a bad experience. "What do you mean by that? Precisely?"

Chris shrugged. "He keeps going like that, he'll meet up with some psycho. Or maybe he'll end up in jail, where there are a _lot_ of psychos. Who're just waiting to tear a kid like him apart. That'll teach him a lesson."

That -

_Anger management issues_, he remembered Stiles saying, smiling through it, like it was nothing. _Fists like boulders._

Derek stared down at his hands. They _were_ clenched. Ready to hurt something. Some_one_. This man, this _teacher_, who thought getting his student _raped_ was the perfect substitute for cognitive behavioral therapy.

Then again, violence was _also_ not an acceptable substitute. For anything. He'd promised himself that.

Chris Argent was still looking at him - expecting a response - but, thankfully, the bell rang before Derek did something stupid.

"Excuse me," said Derek, and got up to throw his styrofoam cup in the trash. "I've got a class to teach."

* * *

**to be continued.**

Please review!

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Notes

The title is from the following quote by Michel de Montaigne: "It is a monstrous thing that I will say, but I will say it all the same: I find in many things more restraint and order in my morals than in my opinions, and my lust less depraved than my reason."

Also, Beacon Hills is supposed to be in California, which makes the age of consent there 18, not 16, but I'm fudging things a bit, because I'm fudgy that way.


End file.
